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Poetry a venting of my heart |
| A word A thought An idea Inked on sleeves of paper Hard bound A supposed place to heal my soul. A nook all my own That lays a whisper To all that boils And brews within. A safe place Which does not feel safe. A theft of my heart And of my being Was placed in your hands To nurture and grow. No growing did commence, Merely shrinkage Of me Of my essence Of all that I was to become. Yet here I plead "Oh my soul". Can the most high not hear? Has he turned his ear Deaf against me? I wallow in anguish In confusion In fear. "Oh save my soul" I cry out to thee |